


Necessary Adjustments

by OneOneBearForOne



Category: Original Work
Genre: (Vaguely Edwardian I think), Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Crossdressing, Forced Masculinization, FtM Transformation, Gen, Historical Fantasy, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Period-Typical Sexism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25912633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneOneBearForOne/pseuds/OneOneBearForOne
Summary: A meek applicant for a chambermaid position finds herself sidelined into a very different role. The pay is fantastic, but the cost is submitting to her employer's idea of keeping up appearances, and perhaps some more explicit things as well! Are the drastic changes being forced on her body worth what she's earning?
Comments: 21
Kudos: 63





	1. Lady Ashwater

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, yeah, yeah, "Hey Ayula where's Twice A Month five?"
> 
> I'm working on it. It's maybe a quarter finished. TaM 5 has a rollercoaster of different vibes going on in its plot and to finish it I have to make myself into those vibes in that specific order for long enough to write it all down. Hasn't really been happening lately. Instead I made this cause I did feel this.
> 
> Pretty sure I'm one of maybe five people on earth who have this particular kink and quite possibly the only one who is trans but not a trans man. Oh well. One of them's kinda famous and does writing I enjoy so I wouldn't be against him seeing it when it's got a few more chapters under its belt. Have fun everyone!
> 
> Note: This forced masculinisation story is just for porny fun. It may be titillating to transgender people (in fact it is: I, the trans woman who wrote it, am titillated by it) but this is not remotely how being trans works in real life. Please make a conscious effort to ensure my work does not affect how you treat the transmasculine people in your life; they will not appreciate it. Additionally, please be aware that the plot of this story may stray into some darker areas of irreversible forced body modification and dubious consent to sex. I will update the tags if it does, but be forewarned that just because you liked my lighter stuff doesn't mean you'll necessarily like this. It's ok if you don't. I still love you.

“You’re certain there were none at all?”

“None, Ma’am. All gone off to the war, Miss Hastings said.” repeated Harriet, the tallest of the five well-dressed maidservants.

“But how incredibly inconvenient this all is!” Lady Ashwater wailed. “I absolutely _must_ have a new gardener by spring! Perhaps not one of particular _quality_ , certainly we must all make little sacrifices in these troubled times, but one of _competence_ at least, else the grounds will run completely wild! And I don’t know what Tabitha was thinking, sending me an extra maid instead. What _am_ I going to do with _five_ of you?”

Jessica’s heart jumped to her throat. Neither she nor any of the other girls had been particularly excited to convey the news that the gardener Lady Ashwater had ordered from the agency could not be had, but they’d been assured profusely that a respectable maidservant position would be guaranteed for each of them. Miss Hastings was beginning to look as if she weren’t as reliable an agent as her reputation suggested. Jessica tried to stand up as straight as possible at the end of the line. One of the other girls would just have to be sent back. She _needed_ this job. Her family needed this job. Her poor mother approached destitution, and already worked herself to the bone doing laundry to make ends meet. Jessica couldn’t fail her again.

“Jess can garden a bit, Ma’am.” Marcia’s voice struck a chill down Jessica’s spine and she was unable to stop herself bending forward and glaring down the line. The younger maid’s face tipped into view and winked with a friendly smile, apparently indifferent to Jessica’s barely concealed panic and resentment. Jessica stood up straight again and bit her tongue as her prospective employer loomed into view above her.

“Jessica… Hocking, is it?” Lady Ashwater referred to the neatly creased letter in her hand. Her ladyship was an older woman, though not what Jessica would call plain old. Her slight advantage in height was boosted by her high heeled boots, leading her to tower at least five inches over Jessica herself. Her hair was greying; streaks of silver running through the tight brunette bun that topped her angular, lined face and pursed lips. Her wardrobe famously favoured the colour green, and on this occasion she was wearing a bottle-green day dress. It was rather plain as such things went, and yet even without the matching gloves it would have cost several times what Jessica stood to make in a year.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Jessica tried to sound as deferential as possible, and curtseyed tentatively.

“And is this true? That you have some little gardening experience?”

“Oh, um… just greenhouse vegetables really, Ma’am.” Jessica struggled to hide her embarrassment. “And I designed the maid school’s entry to the town flower show…”

“This year’s? With the Geraniums?” Lady Ashwater raised an eyebrow.

“Oh… no, Ma’am. Last year’s. With the sweet peas.”

“I see. I rather liked that one, as I remember.” Her ladyship mused. “Hmm. Yes. Perhaps we will have to make do. I will need to think about this. You are dismissed for the moment, Hocking; but be at my chambers at two o’clock precisely this afternoon. Mrs Breadworth can show you the way if you don’t know it.” She gestured to the aged, cotton-capped housekeeper who was standing to attention nearby and nodded silently at Jessica. “For the moment I would like to speak with the other girls a little more. Well what are you waiting for? Go! Take a walk in the gardens to familiarise yourself if you want to be useful!”

Jessica decided not to test her ladyship’s patience and scurried out through the french window into the crisp autumn air.

~

At around ten to two, Jessica sought out the housekeeper, Mrs Breadworth, and was promptly shown to an imposing looking locked door on the upper floor of the house. The older woman gestured to the clock on the wall and told Jessica in no uncertain terms not to knock until two o’clock precisely, as her ladyship would no doubt be busy. Taking this advice to heart with a little pang of fear, Jessica took to standing dutifully outside the door and trying to stay as quiet as possible. On the opposite side of the landing there was a full-length mirror, and she tried to concern herself with straightening her uniform, which despite her best efforts had crumpled a little during her sojourn into the grounds.

Her reflection was thin and short, the result of a childhood of uncertain nutrition. Consequently she hadn’t much of a figure to gawk at, and in truth it had made finding an appropriately sized uniform a little difficult at the agency. Above her torso sat her incredibly plain face with its snub nose and ovoid lips, marked all over with the freckles she always worried made her look like a child. Her dull green eyes stared out from under her low-cut fringe, an idea of Miss Hastings’ much like the french braid that was the only other notable feature of her ginger head of hair. All in all, Jessica wasn’t displeased with how she looked, but she reasoned it would take a lot more effort on the part of her outfit to make her look anywhere near as glamorous as Lady Ashwater could manage in a conservative day dress.

She looked up at the clock in the reflection. It was almost two! Her mouth dry, Jessica raised her hand to the imposing door and knocked twice, politely but not too quietly, as she had been taught.

“Come in.” Her ladyship’s voice sounded from inside. Heart pounding, Jessica turned the handle and stepped into the private chambers…

“Ah, Hocking. Perfect timing.” Lady Ashwater was reclining on a lounge chair in a small sitting room inside. Her outfit was much the same as it had been save that she had gained a silver fur ruff that lay lazily about her neck. Standing up straight nearby was an older, moustachioed man whose uniform suggested he must be the house butler.

“Hardly an appropriate costume.” Lady Ashwater said thinly. “But then I suppose you’ve nothing else, have you, having just arrived? Never mind, that can all be sorted out soon enough. This is my butler, Mr Rathbone. I’ve asked him to be here to help with the finer details of this thorny issue.”

“Um… thorny, Ma’am?” Jessica inquired timidly.

“Oh yes, very.” Lady Ashwater replied offhandedly. “But there was no real getting around it. We do need a gardener for the spring season forward, and even with _Carte Blanche_ to make full and proper use of my husband’s money it’s simply not economical to hire on the service men long term. The gardener position is yours, if you’ll have it.”

Jessica was taken aback. Certainly, she’d always had a green thumb but… _gardener_? To a proper lord and lady? She felt suffocatingly out of her depth. Surely she wasn’t qualified! Was it better to chance it and try to keep her head above water? Or politely decline to avoid embarrassing the Ashwaters? Lord Ashwater was something high up in the war office, that much she knew- would a scandal concerning her incompetence put his position in jeopardy?

“That’s, um… very kind of you, Ma’am…” She said, still stumbling about her answer.

“Good.” Her ladyship smiled. “That’s settled then. I hope you can rise to the challenge, Hocking; though I think it best that we temper our expectations for the first year. Just keep the grounds tidy and presentable and go with something tried and true when you’re planting, and we’ll account for your inexperience just at the moment, shall we?”

“Oh I, um, no I didn’t-” Jessica made to protest.

“The salary, as you may know, is thirty pounds.” Lady Ashwater continued. “And after some consideration and deliberation with Rathbone here, I have decided that despite your inexperience and potential… unsuitability, you will be paid the full amount.”

This stopped Jessica’s pleading dead. _Thirty pounds???_ That was almost three times as much as she’d have been making as a maid! It seemed almost too good to be true! Thirty pounds salary could easily keep her family in food… and then some! They might even be able to afford a nicer house in time! Jessica nearly stopped herself from opening her mouth, fearing that expressing any incredulity might burst the illusion of this fortuitous moment like a soap bubble, but she had to know…

“The full amount, Ma’am?”

“Yes, the full thirty pounds. Far more than your services are worth, of course, but consider the difference to be… compensation. For the inconveniences you will unfortunately have to be subjected to as part of the role.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say it was any inconvenience at all, Ma’am…” Jessica struggled to hide the delight from her voice as she politely refused the descriptor in what she hoped was close enough to the expected manner.

“I rather think it will be, Hocking.” Lady Ashwater stood up and sauntered over to tower over Jessica once again. The new gardener shivered a little as she felt the analytical eye and the distant, but firm, touch of the older woman upon her body, both expressing some odd, inscrutable intent, almost like… almost like _wickedness_ , Jessica thought. Rathbone had approached too and was also examining her from top to bottom, though he was easier to read and his gaze had more of the dispassionate evaluator to it. Altogether she felt suddenly quite uncomfortable.

“I’m not sure I quite understand…” she began.

“Of course.” Lady Ashwater sounded just the faintest bit apologetic. “You see Hocking, I understand that these are… strange times that we live in, and that we all must be prepared to push the boundaries of our own comfort to keep everything more or less moving nicely, what with the war on, of course, but there are some things that, even in this time of relaxed inhibitions, simply _will not do_. Things that it would be unseemly to be perceived by one’s peers to have done, and potentially greatly damaging to one’s reputation, you understand.”

“Like...like what, your ladyship?” Jessica squeaked.

“I’m afraid, Hocking.” said Lady Ashwater, placing a firm hand on Jessica’s hip in a way that forced the younger woman to suppress a yelp of surprise. “That in the circles in which it is my lot to move it absolutely would not be proper to be seen to employ a female gardener, and _certainly_ not a girl of… what, eighteen?”

“Nineteen, Ma’am.” Jessica suddenly felt very apprehensive.

“Nineteen. A girl more suited to the role of maidservant, and indeed interviewed for such a role. No no. Professional gardening, Hocking, is a decidedly _male_ domain, and it comes with corresponding appearances to keep up. Consequently, you will report to Mr Rathbone, not to Mrs Breadworth, while you are here, and as far as your personal presentation goes… well, we will need to make some _necessary adjustments_ …”

Flanked between the looming Lady Ashwater and the stern Mr Rathbone, Jessica suddenly began to feel very frightened indeed.


	2. Samson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica discovers exactly what was meant by "Necessary Adjustments" and is introduced to her new place of work.

Jessica was roused from her slumber by furious banging on the door of her room. It had been a pleasant surprise to be afforded her own private sleeping space, cut off in the opposite wing to where the maidservants slept, but the blissful respite of sleep being broken signalled a new day, no doubt full of peculiar and perhaps frightening experiences. She sat up in bed, her face obscured by curtains of untidy orange hair.

“You’ll not have to worry about that much longer.” the presence on the floorboards to her left that she’d heard bustle into the room said in Mrs Breadworth’s voice. “Clothes on the dresser, girl. Get dressed promptly and come to the butler’s pantry. We’re busy folk, Mr Rathbone and I, and there’s more than enough work to do with you in particular today that we’re not looking to fall behind on.”

Jessica swung herself out of bed as she heard Mrs Breadworth leave and close the door, and sleepily crossed the floorboards to the small washbasin. After rinsing and drying her face she turned to the dresser to examine what she’d been left by way of a work uniform.

A man’s pinstriped work shirt and waistcoat in a small size. A pair of braces to attach to the slightly faded brown trousers which she knew she would have to turn up at the cuffs to get on. A pair of stubby brown work boots that smelled strongly of polish. A large ring of various keys- no doubt to sheds and gates in the garden- that attached to the trousers via a hook. A flat cap that she could just envision making her look even more crude. She was, she was relieved to find, permitted the indulgence of feminine undergarments, including a simple corset that that she found was of a design that flattened and hid her meagre breasts. Having eventually managed to haul the complete costume on, and taken some time to properly braid her hair, she took a moment to examine herself in the mirror.

_I look ridiculous_. She thought. Was this all _really_ necessary? It was all very well to keep up appearances, but the fact that she was a young girl in an ill-fitting men’s shirt was blindingly obvious to any observer taking more than a casual glance. She resembled a child cross-dressing for a small part in an amateur theatre production that lacked sufficient actors. Wouldn’t it be easier for Lady Ashwater just to have swallowed her pride and outfitted Jessica with a simple brown apron and some sensible shoes? 

Regardless, she had better not keep Mrs Breadworth waiting. She removed the hat- not a thing to be wearing indoors when one wasn’t checking the fit and style- and tried to effect a purposeful stride as she marched out into the corridor and closed the door, but in these braces and thudding, inelegant boots she felt more like a circus clown than anything. She hoped the maids would already be away about their business- she didn’t care for any of them to see her like this too soon, least of all that chronic gossip Catherine. As surreptitiously as she could, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen, and from there to the butler’s pantry. 

“There you are!” Mrs Breadworth said exasperatedly as Jessica clomped in. “What kept you, girl? Oh look Mr Rathbone, she’s gone and plaited her hair! Stupid child- why do you think you’re down here to begin with?”

Standing in the centre of the stone floor was a large, rough looking wooden stool with a low back and a single faded cushion on it. Behind it was the sallow, officious form of Mr Rathbone the butler, who surprised Jessica by actually electing to reply for once.

“I shouldn’t be concerned, Mrs Breadworth.” He said in an oily, droning tone. “It is not a very complex operation. Sit in the chair please, Hocking, and put this on to protect your clothes.”

Jessica wanted to retort that that there was very little that they could be protected from that did not seem already to have happened to them, but it didn’t do to talk back to one’s betters that way. She obediently sat herself in the stool and turned forward, stonefaced. 

“Hold still.” Mr Rathbone commanded firmly. Jessica felt a canvas blanket being fastened around her neck and heard the unmistakable ring of a pair of scissors being opened behind her. She almost twisted in her seat before she felt a tug on her plait that forced her to look straight ahead, her chin up. The scissors rang behind her again and with a sickening lurch the backward pull on her hair was gone, and strands of it were thrown into her eyes. From there he grasped her head firmly again and again, and she felt the blade of the scissors scrape against the back and sides of her scalp. It seemed to take an absolute age, aeons passing between each tick of the clock, all that Jessica could see in her field of view being the stern looking form of Mrs Breadworth standing off to the side and a flurry of orange hairs fluttering to the floor.

Finally, the butler’s rough hands left her skull and the blanket was pulled away. Mrs Breadworth unhooked the cracked, plain mirror from the wall and handed it to Jessica, who tentatively tipped it until her face hove into view. 

She blinked blithely, her mind for a moment unable to comprehend the face in the glass, a freckled young boy with close-cropped messy hair- the kind who used to jeer at her from the street when she helped her mother hang out the laundry. The boy blinked too, and as recognition and realisation began to wash over Jessica his eyes began to well with tears. 

This was what Lady Ashwater wished of her, and would wish of her for a long time to come. Not just wearing the clothes and approximating the manners of a male servant, not just _resembling_ one, but playing the role, inhabiting it, deceiving people. It would be a long while before she could go back to being Jessica, go back to things being normal. She wiped the tears away, hoping they wouldn’t persist. It wasn’t a good start to be seen to be this emotional, especially now she would have to play the part of a man. But oh, what a wretched predicament! 

“Her ladyship wishes there to be no points of confusion or alarm for those visiting who might be introduced to you.” Rathbone said.

“Which means you’ll be needing a new name, a boy’s name to go with yer work clothes.” Mrs Breadworth added sternly. “And if you want to choose it, you’d better do it now so we can all start using it. It’ll be hard enough to get the maids you came with to change, we don’t all want to get used to calling you ‘Jessica’. Any ideas, child?”

Jessica looked down at her alien reflection in the mirror again, its hair now a fraction of the length she was used to; the messy result of Mr Rathbone’s inexpert barber’s ability insufficient for the dignity of indoor work, but perfectly acceptable for a dirt-mucking gardener boy. She felt deflated, like everything she knew and valued about herself, everything she thought she was good at or was good about her, had been cut off along with her hair, replaced with a pair of work trousers and a flat cap from somebody’s else’s cast off things.

“Samson.” She said in a small voice. “Sam, for short.”

~

“You are to leave the general structure alone.” Lady Ashwater commanded as she, a despondent Jessica and Mr Rathbone walked through the garden. “The levels and the stonework are adequate for the purposes of forming a new garden, and I find the patio gets used too much for it to be drastically changed. Down here-” she hurried blithely down the steps, leaving the two servants to follow her- one striding officiously, one scurrying harriedly. “-I think we’ll need to revert to a lawn on most of the rectangle. Feel free to take out the paving slabs if you like, just remember that access to the glass house needs to be maintained. Though perhaps you might leave that particular job just for the minute; they’re heavy slabs and you’re a spindly lad; we have Doctor Casement coming in from town later in the week to help you with that. Yes, a lawn here please, and perhaps up there on the middle level towards the hedge you might consider a small vegetable patch or something of the sort. Put those agricultural skills of yours to work, shall we? It’s not the sort of thing I would normally consider, you understand, but I rather think that in a few years or so when the war effort has done for the price of food it will be quite fashionable to be seen to have an area like that in one’s garden- self sufficiency, you know. Perhaps nothing material will come of it, but if any of the produce turns out edible feel free to consult the cook about whether it can be of any use.”

“Yes Ma’am.” Jessica said, a little uncertainly.

“Beyond that, what to plant is fairly standard nowadays." Lady Ashwater continued without acknowledgement. “Peonies, Irises, Lavender, Lady’s-mantle for the cover… I’m sure you’d know more about than I do. Normally there’d be a senior gardener to supervise you, but those are not the circumstances we find ourselves in, so I suppose you’ll have to use some small amount of creativity, won’t you…?” She trailed off, frowning at Jessica.

Jessica stared at her employer, startled, until she realised what was being asked of her. “Oh! Sam- Samson! Ma’am! My name is Samson.”

“I rather hope Doctor Casement can do something about that voice if you can’t, Samson.” Lady Ashwater remarked incredulously. “It might not be so much better than the alternative to be seen to have boy of thirteen for a gardener.”

Jessica gulped and tried to adopt a guttural, chesty tone. “I- I will try my best, Ma’am.” 

“Very good then. And did you get all that?”

“Er- yes Ma’am, I think so. A lawn down there, a vegetable patch up here, and everything else in the modern style… but don’t touch the stonework except the path by the glass house!” Jessica listed off, a surge of satisfaction coming from discovering that her ability to remember basic instructions had not been one of the things her de-powering had taken from her.

“Well then. I think I shall go inside, it is rather cold out here. I look forward to seeing your results in the spring, Samson.” Lady Ashwater said. “If you have any questions I’m sure Mr Rathbone can help, though he does have other duties to attend to so perhaps you’d be better familiarising yourself a little more with the garden’s layout.” She swept away back over the patio and into the house. Mr Rathbone looked at Jessica expectantly.

“Any pressing matters, Sam?”

“Oh! No Mr Rathbone, I don’t think so.” The name still felt odd and she doubted it would ever fit her as nicely as ‘Jessica’, even looking like she did. “If I do have questions unless they’re terribly pressing I think I’ll leave them until I see you later today, if I might, to...to save you the trouble.”

“That would be much appreciated. Pleasant morning to you.” The oily butler headed off in the direction of the house.

Jessica sighed and descended the steps to the future lawn. Right at the moment it was a series of raised beds, of the kind that were rather unfashionable now. They would need to be dismantled. She cast about a bit. There would be a potting shed, somewhere, and a wheelbarrow, but unsightly as garden owners tended to consider such things they would be off the beaten track. She noticed that the doors to the glass house were double ones- hardly required for entertaining guests, the glass house was far too small for any kind of crowd- but likely necessary if one was to push a cart or barrow through from the other side- yes! She could see through the glass that there was another, wooden building abutting the glass house on the far wall! She fumbled with her ring of keys, trying a few before she managed to unlock the door to the humid botanical haven. 

Upon entering, she realised quickly that a spread of ivy trellises largely obscured the interior of the glass house from the windows of the manor, likely not by happenstance. The arboretum itself was cozy, with a number of large, hardy looking ferns, and an enclosed patio area with room for some sort of couch or lounge chair to be spread- or perhaps two if necessary. In this cold season such things were tidied away, and Jessica presumed she would find them in the potting shed. 

She was quickly proven correct. The shed itself was rather spatious, and the various things that occupied it- the lounge chairs, storage crates, a set of gardeners tools notably missing a fork- had evidently been hastily stuffed inside, such that Jessica could imagine a more sensible arrangement affording her quite a bit of free space. She resolved there and then to spend as much of her time when she was not presently working down here- it was nicely secluded, hidden from view, it had room for her to set up a cosy living arrangement; and at least until the springtime nobody would have much reason even to enter the glass house, so she would be left alone. She had begrudgingly accepted that some sacrifice to public display of this awful aesthetic that had been thrust on her would be necessary in the line of duty, but she hardly desired to parade herself any more than she had to. 

The wheelbarrow was here, and she was grateful to discover that it had not been hemmed in by the slapdash storage of other bulky items. In a crate nearby she found and dusted off a pair of gardening gloves that emerged to fit her- if not comfortably- acceptably. Having decided on her purpose for the morning, she hefted the barrow and wheeled it out down the brick path in the glass house towards the rectangle. 

Stopping in front of the open doors, she examined one of the paving slabs on the ground. It was large, certainly, but not so big as she had feared, and sufficiently well spaced from the others that she didn’t imagine she would even need a tool to get under it. Might this be so difficult? She would only need to lift one at a time, and it surely couldn’t be heavier than the vegetable boxes she had, as the eldest of three daughters, been entrusted to heave off the lorry of Mr Morris the grocer whenever he came to her house back home. 

She decided to try it. Perhaps a demonstration of her extant abilities might dissuade Lady Ashwater from allowing Doctor Casement to do… whatever it was exactly he had in store for her tomorrow. Feeling under the stone with her gloved fingers she scraped away some of the earth, gripped tight, and- pausing only to squat in preparation as Mr Morris’ admonishment of “Lift with your knees, girl!” flashed into her mind, pulled upwards. 

Jessica screwed her eyes up as she hauled the paving slab up to her waist, turned and deposited it in the waiting wheelbarrow with a clunk. Turning back to the hole, she covered her face with one hand and chanced a peek. 

There was nothing in the hole but bare earth and what she imagined to be a dead root bed. Jessica breathed out in relief. She did not like insects and other creepy-crawlies, but she had done enough garden work before to know that they came with the territory, and with at least thirty more slabs to remove she didn’t deign to lie to herself that an encounter would not be forthcoming. 

The second slab came easier, and she felt that her technique was becoming more solid. She found that placing it in the barrow against the first, however, made rather more noise than she had hoped, and she glanced up almost in fear at the looming form of the house. 

Her fear, she discovered, was not unfounded. In one of the upper room windows a figure stood, observing her. It was too far away to make out their specific identity, but Jessica’s gut wrenched as she saw the dark smock and white apron of one of the maids. Blood rushed to her cheeks at the realisation that she had been observed diligently and somewhat enthusiastically performing this most unladylike of tasks. 

She feared what the rest of her cohort would have to say to her when next they met, and decided to double down on the work to give herself as much excuse to avoid the other servants as possible. Cast once again into misery, Jessica tried to focus on that big round number thirty in her mind as she bent to pick up the next stone... 


	3. The Masculine Humour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica encounters the buffoonish Doctor Casement and his syringe of manliness, and then fails at not encountering the other servants, twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Synthesised testosterone (and by extension TRT) was invented in the 1930s. I do not fucking care, do not @ me.

A certain amount of dread filled Jessica’s heart as she answered an early morning summons to Lady Ashwater’s chambers dressed in her work clothes. She had never been to any part of the house that fancy while dressed in her scarecrow-like gardener’s getup, and her Ladyship’s admonishment that she was to present herself so suggested either that some further masculinising humiliation was to befall her, or that she was to be presented to somebody that Lady Ashwater would prefer were unaware of her secret.

It quickly emerged that both suspicions were somewhat correct. “Samson, this is Doctor Casement.” Lady Ashwater said in a firm tone of voice. “I’ve explained to him about your little problem and he’s very graciously agreed to take some time out of his busy schedule to help you out. At my expense, of course.”

“Oh it’s no problem, no problem at all!” Doctor Casement chuckled good-naturedly. He was a small man, plump and well-dressed with something of the last century’s fashion to his appearance. “This shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. And I assure you, my boy, I’ve seen complaints like yours many many times. It’s very common, in fact. Some men find it works to their advantage, but for an outdoorsman like you I imagine it’s rather an irritation. Easily fixed, easily fixed!” He rummaged in his leather doctor’s bag and produced a large syringe that made Jessica leap back in alarm.

“Not to worry, my boy, not to worry!” Doctor Casement bumbled. “Looks scarier than it is, you know. Now then, inside here.” He flicked the tip of the syringe. “Is the purest form yet possible of what we will call the masculine humour, extracted directly from…” he paused and winced. “Well, never let’s mind its provenance, that’s hardly relevant and perhaps a little inappropriate for such refined surrounds. The point is, my boy, it is a deficiency of this particular substance that is causing you all these problems. A little jab once in a while and you’ll be back on the road to being a strapping young fellow that any mother could be proud of.”

Jessica winced at the last sentence, thinking of how Doctor Casement was (and presumably was wished by Lady Ashwater to remain) blissfully unaware of the actual relationship between her masculinity and her mother’s pride. She considered refusing; if ever there were a watershed moment to get off this horrid ride and walk away from Lord Ashwater’s money and his wife’s nightmarish demands, it was now.

“Of course.” Doctor Casement remarked absent-mindedly. “I will warn you now: this might have to be a long-term arrangement. Some young men have rather a grand deficiency, and of course the more of the opposing feminine humour that you have, the more likely it is that the effects shall lessen without regular application. Without being too indelicate, I have encountered a couple of gentlemen possessed of some… internal deformity that they themselves were unaware of, which meant that their bodies in fact produced this feminine humour naturally. It was necessary, then, for them to remain taking the injections essentially indefinitely, as if given enough time without, the effects would completely reverse themselves.”

Jessica’s eyes opened wide. “Is… is that so, Doctor Casement?” She inquired with an effected tone of great interest, hoping her guttural tone was deep enough that combined with the Doctor’s assessment of her as a very feminine man it would allow her to avoid suspicion.

“Quite so, I’m afraid.” The Doctor lamented. “That isn’t a problem, I hope? Lady Ashwater told me that she was quite willing to pay for my services for as long as you needed them, so you needn’t worry about that, if that’s it.”

“Oh no, not at all, Sir!” Jessica struggled to hide her relief. “It’s just… well, if I were to leave her ladyship’s service at some point in the future, obviously I would struggle to afford such treatments myself. But that’s not so much a problem now, and I’m sure I would manage somehow with wherever the road took me then.” She shot a glance at her employer, who gave her a cautionary frown, but nodded.

“Oh of course, of course!” Doctor Casement bumbled. “But let us not think of such things right now, when they are as of yet of no import! Roll up that sleeve, my boy, and I assure you you will feel but a slight pinch for just a moment. Nothing to worry about!”

With some trepidation, Jessica complied, but couldn’t fight her compulsion to look away into the corner of the room.

The doctor chuckled again. “Not possessed of the nerve to watch, are we? Not to worry my boy, not to worry. Rather the same myself when I need seek a colleague’s treatment, in fact, if we’re being truly candid.” Jessica felt his hand on her shoulder and a moment later a sharp pinch at her bicep that made her jump. Before she could properly react, however, the pinch was a dull ache, and the doctor was wrapping her arm in a simple white bandage.

“Keep that on for today.” He instructed. “But you needn’t worry about it any longer than that. I will be back in a fortnight for your next dosage. Good day!” Picking up his bag and hat he made a prompt and purposeful exit, the sound of his effusive greeting to Mr Rathbone (who had presumably come to escort him to the front door) echoing back into the room.

“Well now, Samson.” Lady Ashwater said thinly. “Why don’t you take ten minutes just to ensure the Doctor’s tincture has had no untoward effect, and then I rather think there is work for you to continue with waiting in the garden, don’t you?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Jessica rubbed the dull soreness on her arm. “I’ll just… wait outside for a few minutes, shall I?”

“I think that would be best. Good day to you.”

~

“What _is_ going on with you, Jess?” Lottie asked, scraping her fork against her plate as the servants took lunch together in the early afternoon.

Jessica’s eyes widened in alarm. “Don’t let the bosses catch you calling me that, Lot, or it’s a hidin’ for sure.” She had rather hoped to avoid the other maids for longer than a day, but big stern Harriet, who despite holding no official position had always been the informal leader of the band of girls, had made it quite clear that she was not only invited, but in fact firmly entreated, to share lunch with them that day. Likely it had been as long as she could have held back the tide of exactly this kind of question from the other, younger maids. 

“Oh yes, that’s right.” Harriet mused. “It’s… what, Saul, we’re to call you now?”

“Samson.” Jessica mumbled through a mouthful of potatoes. “Er, Sam, for short.”

Harriet nodded. “Knew it was something from the Bible. That a decree from on high, then?” 

Jessica nodded back. “Her ladyship wants my old name, and me being a girl and all that, kept quiet as much as can be. Mrs Breadworth seemed like she was going to be pretty strict about it.” 

“I can believe that.” Catherine remarked sourly. “Been here all of a week an’ old Breadcrust’s already shown us all too much o’ her true colours. Is that oilcan Rathbone any better?”

“Don’t think so.” Jessica mumbled. “He’s all right to me, but his domain’s mostly inside the house an’ mine out of it, so he hasn’t much business with me unless he’s helping with whatever the Missus’ new horror she’s inflicting on me is. I definitely wouldn’t tell him anything in confidence.”

“Are you all right J- Sam?” Lottie asked, her expression one of deep concern. “We was all real happy when you got the job, but all this stuff her ladyship’s doing to you, it’s a bit… perverse, isn’t it?”

“For sure.” Jessica said, a little mournful. “But it can all be put back, so I’m told. And… look, I don’t like it much, Lottie, but the salary’s _thirty pounds._ Hattie, you’ve met my mum, you know what our house is like. We need the money. It’s barely a question”

“THIRTY POUNDS?!” Catherine choked, trying to avoid spitting potato back onto her plate. The others turned to look at her in concern as the lanky girl struggled for air. “Naw.” She asserted between coughs. “I get it now. If there were a thirty pound salary in it for me I’d consider things like that.”

“Don’t know I could.” Harriet mused. “I don’t think Norm would hold with it, not with us looking to get married in a couple of years. But I understand, don’t think I don’t.”

Lottie and Marcia nodded and grunted in agreement, the revelation of Jessica’s princely salary seeming a balm on their qualms about Lady Ashwater’s odd imperatives to their friend. 

“Still though.” Catherine said after a moment. “It’s a very queer business, the whole thing, and I know I wouldn’t trust ‘er ladyship as far as I could throw ‘er. We’ll keep it all quiet for ya, Sam, but you know what we’re like. I’m an aul’ gossip, me, always ‘ave been, can’t help it; and ye’ve seen how Marcia goes whenever some ‘andsome young man comes to the door.” She put a firm hand on Jessica’s wrist and looked at her with a serious expression of something almost like solidarity. “We’ll keep our mouths shut, don’t you worry. Hattie’ll keep ‘em shut for us if nothin’ else. But if we ever find out yer tryin’ to get out, that the old bat’s got yer by the throat and she’s visitin’ horrors like out of books on you that ‘ent worth the thirty smackers she’s payin…” She removed her hand, averted her gaze and picked up her fork again. “Well… I suppose in a situation like that the coppers or the papers or someone like that might just… find out some’ow and come and rescue yer; and who can say the particulers as to how that might’ve ‘appened?”

Jessica’s eyes stung with tears of gratitude as she looked at tall, sensible Harriet, who just nodded solemnly at her, and at the two younger girls, who assumed determined frowns and made the gesture of the faux-military salute the three of them had often shared in maid school when binding themselves together in covenants of mischief. She stood up, gesturing over Harriet’s shoulder at the scullery maid, whose name she did not know, to indicate her plate was clean.

“I should, um… you know… garden things.”

“Hmm.” Harriet made to clear her own plate. “We should clear up too. But listen, Sam. Don’t be a stranger. Perhaps in time you’ll be making new friends in Rathbone’s side of the house, I don’t know how this works, but I don’t want you thinking just cause our new Missus has you doing peculiar things to yourself and pulling in thirty ruddy pounds that you’re not welcome to sit with us, or that we’d be making fun or deciding we’re not still your pals if you need us. Change your face and your voice all you like, I know you and I know you well, and I’ve known what you’re like for a good long time. You’ve gone and hidden yourself away from us cause you can’t shake the voice in your head that tells you you’re a freak and that we’re all disgusted with you, and we’re just waiting to skewer you like a concert hall funnyman; and if we’re not then surely we all hate you because you’ve got a big salary and you’re all hoity-toity now.” She put a tight hand to Jessica’s shoulder. “It ain’t true and it never has been, and I’m sorry for being firm like this but I’m hoping if I just tell you straight right at the start before you can get to wallowing you’ll have a better chance of keeping that nasty little voice in your head quiet. What would we be, if we was like that? Goodness, it was Marcia got you into this mess in the first place by running her mouth, God bless her.” Here, Jessica followed Harriet’s gaze as she looked over her shoulder at the small brunette maid who squirmed in her seat guiltily.

“...All right.” Jessica said in a small voice, feeling altogether very silly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t just avoiding you cause of that. It’s been hard to deal with it myself. I haven’t wanted to be seen by anyone. Not sure I’ve even managed yet, to be honest.”

“I can imagine.” Harriet’s tone softened. “But for what it’s worth, I think you look very handsome. Don’t he, girls?” She raised her voice a little as Jessica cringed at the unfamiliar pronoun.

“Absolutely.” Catherine concurred, shovelling away the remainder of her potatoes that she had neglected from excessive talking. “‘andsome enough that ‘er ladyship will leave yer alone, god willin’.”

“Very handsome!” Lottie squeaked. Marcia only nodded, and avoided Jessica’s gaze. Turned away as her face was, however, Jessica didn’t miss the tell-tale tint of bright crimson on the young woman’s cheeks as she had silently shown her agreement, and she felt herself struck by something of a peculiar feeling. Shivering under Harriet’s firm hand, she made a gesture of excuse and strode off in the direction of the servants’ patio entrance, feeling heat creep across her own cheeks as she though of what she had seen… and what it might mean.

On her way past the stairwell, she noticed the boots, scrubbing away at what she presumed was a pair of Mr Rathbone’s work shoes. He looked up as Jessica was passing.

“You’re walking wrong.” He called.

Jessica whirled in surprise. The boots hadn’t ever spoken to her before; she didn’t even know his name. A spry lad of surely no more than fourteen, when she saw him at all he was mostly absorbed with polishing shoes or some more complex hallboy task. He had, thus, far, blended into the background, so to hear his first words to her be some incomprehensible criticism had, as they said, absolutely thrown her for six.

“What?” She interrogated incredulously.

“It’s not that noticeable.” The boots mused, without looking up at her. “’Cause servants ain’t supposed to take up space, see? But even servant men don’t walk like that. You’re givin’ yourself away.”

“How do you walk then?” Jessica demanded, a little indignant at what she couldn’t help but see as impertinence from this lowly child.

“Much the same.” He replied, putting the shoes aside and standing up from his nook. “But you don’t put your feet in front of each other, see. Just forward and back. Look.” He demonstrated beside her, showing how silly he looked imitating her small toe-to-heel maid’s trot. “Men don’t walk like that cause it ain’t comfortable, see? There’s… stuff in the way to stop yourolling your thighs that close. So what you wanner do is this.” He demonstrated a similar walk, but now with each foot advancing only in front of itself instead of its twin, giving the impression of a much more rectangular figure. “You could swagger wider like this…” he demonstrated hanging his frame almost like some kind of ape and keeping his thighs apart. “But that’d look odd, I think, you’re not big enough to have any business like that and it’s not a seemly way to be walkin’ indoors.”

“Thanks.” Jessica said in an uncertain tone. “I’ll, um, try to remember that.”

The boots stuck out his hand. “I’m Frank, by the way. Frank Edwardson”

“Sam.” Jessica shook his hand gingerly. “Sam Hocking.”

“So I’ve heard.” Frank smirked. “Middle sized of the new maids as was, right?”

“Yes.” Jessica instinctively put a finger to her lips. “But, um... her ladyship would prefer that didn’t get about.”

Frank tapped the side of his nose. “Course. Mum’s the word.” He stepped back over to his nook and picked up the shoes. “You know where I am if you need any more advice, though. Truth be told you’re doin’ all right. Took me all yesterday to figger out where I’d seen you before and what it was ‘bout yer that looked peculier. But there’s always room for improvement.”

“Right.” Jessica said, still taken aback. “Well, bye Frank. I’ve got… gardener business. But thanks for the advice.”

“Welcome.” Frank’s smirk didn’t fade as he started scrubbing again. “Good day t’yer, Mister Hocking, Sir.”

Jessica squirmed at being called _Sir_ , but she wasn’t about to rebuke a politeness from this dangerous cipher of a young colleague. He evidently knew far more than he ought, and she was at his mercy as much as anybody else’s. She remembered how she’d been at that age; thick as thieves with Lottie and Marcia. Boys were nothing if not just the same, but moreso. She would have to watch out for Frank, and pray that all he had in store for her was more of his unsolicited advice on navigating the world of men. 


	4. Let's call it a favour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lady Ashwater visits horrors like out of books on Jessica that ‘ent worth the thirty smackers she’s payin and the other maids don't find out about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discovering Edwardian greenhouses had subterranean pipe heating went a lot way to getting this scene, which was supposed to happen in late spring and yet somehow before scenes that happened in early spring because I am an absolute fucking dipshit, out the door.
> 
> Also this chapter is basically one long dubcon/noncon scene so if you do not want to see that I suggest skipping it and figuring out from chapters in the future what happened.

It was cold November afternoon, and Jessica was glad that she had managed to convince Lady Ashwater to have the pipe heating in the glass house inspected a month previously. Neither she nor the nascent plants it was now her day-to day responsibility to tend (for unfortunately it had been too late to plant more than Lady’s-Mantle outdoors in the end) would have fared well in the freezing cold, although Jessica had to admit that of late she had found herself feeling uncomfortably warmer than she used to.

The sound of the trickling from the watering-can she was dutifully but gingerly tipping into each earthenware tray almost disguised the sound of the door to her left opening, and Jessica imagined that if it hadn’t been accompanied by a rush of cold air she might have missed it entirely. She turned to see Lady Ashwater, alone but finely dressed in furs, cloak and a long green skirt. She was carrying a brown paper parcel under one hand and had a rather sinisterly predatory smile on her face that, along with her green livery, gave Jessica the uncomfortable impression of a praying mantis. She wore no hat or muff, but presumably those she had considered excessive for a simple trip down the garden.

“Good afternoon, Samson.” She said cordially, closing the door behind her.

“Oh, um, afternoon Ma’am.” Jessica replied in her gruff vocal affectation. “Not so usual to see you down here now it’s so cold, not least on your own, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“Not at all, Samson, and might I say that voice of yours is really coming along nicely.” The older woman grinned. “I simply came down to admire my handiwork.”

Immersed as she had been in servant culture her entire life, Jessica was very used to the habit of lords and ladies of minimising the actual labour of the lower classes to assume credit for the fruits of their vague ideas. She stepped back a little and gestured at the trays. “Well, there’s not so much to see quite yet, Ma’am, but I could show you what’s been planted thus far and how it’s being tended to...”

“Don’t be silly, Samson, that’s _your_ handiwork, not mine!” Lady Ashwater laughed. “Goodness you really are a servant through and through, aren’t you? Thank you for your deference, of course, but I’m not one of those ladies who enjoys pretending it isn’t the lot of her servants to handle things like this. No, Samson, _my_ project is you, of course.”

Oh. This was going to be one of _those_ visits. Jessica suppressed her natural desire to sigh and stood up straight and open to be inspected. “What would you like to know, Ma’am?”

“What sort of changes have you been noticing, Sam?” Lady Ashwater looked Jessica up and down appreciatively. “I want to see if Dr Casement’s injections have been having the appropriate effect.

“Well, uh…” Jessica faltered. “I feel warmer than I used to, Ma’am. All the time, my body is just warmer normally than it was. My skin is oilier than it used to be, and it’s easier for me to get spots… I feel stronger now, but I’m not sure if that’s just been all the manual labour, to be honest. Oh and…” She squirmed uncomfortably and lowered her voice. “...a certain... monthly visitor has been notably absent, Ma’am. Expected three days ago, she was.”

“Very good.” Lady Ashwater pursed her lips. “That all sounds in line with what the Doctor told me. Well, except the last part, he’d have had no reason to ruminate on _that_ , would he? He did tell me, however, that the opposite treatment has restored that particular… visitor, in women who had lost it, so we must presume this is normal.”

 _Nothing about what you’re doing to me is normal, you bitch_. Jessica thought bitterly, but she swallowed her spite and effected a small smile. “Will that be all, Ma’am?”

“Not quite, Sam.” Lady Ashwater’s voice took on a conspiratorial tone that Jessica liked even less than the previous one. “I have… let’s call it a favour to ask of you.” She stepped closer to Jessica. Too close, in fact. Jessica was trapped between the stone table and her tall, overbearing employer and she was struck with that same fear she had felt in the lady’s chambers when this nightmare began.

“What… what sort of favour would that be exactly, Ma’am?”

“You’ve never met my husband, have you, Sam?” Lady Ashwater had adopted a hushed tone, and Jessica was suddenly painfully aware that with the glass house windows misted up by condensation from the pipes, nobody outside would be able to see in to witness what was happening.

“Um, no, Ma’am. He’s not been home since I started, to my knowledge.”

“No.” Lady Ashwater looked away into the middle distance for a moment. “He hasn’t. Too busy, you see, with his position at the war office.” She met Jessica’s gaze again. “Of course, many women countrywide are missing the men in their life right at the moment, Sam, but I regret to say that Edward has of late been a… distant man even when physically present. It bores me so very much, I have to say.”

“I'm sorry to hear that, Ma’am.” Jessica was panicking. While hardly a literary scholar, she’d read more than her share of lurid romance novels, and she had a horrible suspicion she knew where this conversation was heading, ludicrous as it seemed to even consider.

“It’s petty, perhaps.” Her Ladyship continued. “But I rather think that Edward needs to be taught a lesson that one’s attentions must not stray too long from one’s wife, or perhaps her own attentions might wander in turn. And perhaps alight, shall we say, on the figure of a handsome young man who works out of doors, but close at hand. Do you understand what I might be saying here, Sam?”

Colour drained from Jessica’s face as her fears were realised. “All too well, Ma’am, and I really must protest-”

“Must you now?” The lady raised an eyebrow. “How much must you protest?”

“I…”

“Might your protestations be worth… thirty pounds?”

“No, Ma’am, please…” Jessica could feel her face prickling and heat rising from under her collar. “I… I just can’t…”

“What a pity.” Lady Ashwater crooned, walking her fingers up Jessica’s flattened breast. “And here I thought you were such a good boy, Samson, ready to attend to your mistress’ every need.”

“I…” Jessica could feel her salary slipping between her fingers. She scrabbled at it. “I haven’t much experience being a good boy, Ma’am. I’ve only had a few months practice at even being a boy! I don’t want to disappoint you, I really don’t, but… you’re asking too much! Please, I need this job, but… well, we both know I don’t have the appropriate, uh, equipment.”

“Ah, not to worry Sam.” Lady Ashwater stepped back a little and handed Jessica the brown paper parcel. “I have a little present for you that should help with that.”

Jessica gingerly took the parcel and undid the string. She placed it on the stone table and peeled off the paper, revealing a strange object. It consisted of a long ivory statuette of a penis- the kind of device that Jessica had heard of, but never seen- attached at its base to a strange apparatus of leather straps and small buckles. Jessica stood looking at it in confusion.

“Do you need some help?” Lady Ashwater asked kindly, having closed the distance again and looming behind Jessica.

“It’s… it’s for attaching around my waist, isn’t it?” Jessica asked quietly.

“Yes, dear. The straps have to go in particular places, let me show you.”

Hiding her crimson face, Jessica slowly unfastened her belt and took off her trousers and the underwear beneath, placing them on the table. She picked up the device and placed it over her exposed sex. Shuddering a little, she turned around and accepted her employer’s cold, talon-like hands on her exposed bottom.

“Are you really certain about this, Ma’am?” She pleaded one more time.

“Very much, Sam.” The authoritative voice behind her said. “Though it seems you aren’t. I do appreciate your service, don’t think that I don’t. In fact, if I might remind you that Christmas is coming up rather soon, and I haven’t had time to decide the exact contents of the servants’ boxes as of yet. How are your family? Are they benefiting from your unexpectedly handsome salary at all?”

“Y-yes, very much.” Jessica stared into the fogged up window beyond the trays. “I did get a rather alarmed letter from my mother. She’s always struggled to make ends meet, so my salary was quite a surprise for her, it’s really helped at home apparently.”

“Well then.” Lady Ashwater finished buckling the straps behind Jessica and lightly slapped her bottom. “An advantage you have over other young men, Sam, is that you won’t experience any problems with… flaccidity, let’s call it, if you think of your mother while pleasuring a woman.”

“Very good, Ma’am.” Jessica grimaced, turning to look at her employer. She was trapped, and not just by the granite tabletop. Shame welled up inside her as she realised exactly how much power Lady Ashwater was able effortlessly to wield over her with the same blunt monetary instrument. How far would this go? How much further was she apparently willing to debase herself for the sake of thirty pounds? When would the prospect of disappointing and horrifying her mother beat out the one of feeding, clothing and resting her?

“Well, get to work, Samson. As with all things in this building, I leave it in your capable hands.” Lady Ashwater said. “And as with all your tasks, some allowances will be made for inexperience, but I expect you to learn fast.” She spread her arms and indicated downward at her resplendently clothed body. “Ravish me.”

Jessica panicked. It was difficult enough to imagine herself playing the part of a man and having sex with this older woman who had trapped her by circumstance in the steamed-up glass house, but now _ravishing_ was to be involved? She decided to be pedantic to play for time.

“Um, ravish you, My Lady?” She ventured. “Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be sure, Sam?”

“Well Ma’am not to contradict you it’s just… Well, much of my experience with _ravishing_ involves things like, well, the ripping of clothes, etcetera, and I don’t know if that’s a good idea... I’m sure everything you’re wearing is worth more than my salary, Ma’am!”

“A fair concern, Sam, a fair concern. I’d like to say hang the cost, but I think perhaps that would raise some eyebrows when I return to the house. Let’s say, no ripping, but you may tug and ruffle as you need.”

“All right…” Jessica strode purposely forward and snatched roughly around Lady Ashwater’s waist, causing her to yelp happily as her upper body was thrown backwards, rendering Jessica the taller of the two. She grabbed the hem of Lady Ashwater’s skirt and pulled it upwards, exposing the older woman’s simple lace underwear, which she tugged downwards to reveal her cunt. Lady Ashwater giggled with glee but said nothing else as Jessica clasped a hand to each of her hips, stood between her legs and, with a degree of fumbling, inserted the ivory cock into her.

“Please forgive my inexperience, Ma’am.” Jessica said gruffly. “Given I came to you as a chambermaid, the ‘maid’ part of that description was impressed on me rather strongly, so I’ve only read about this in books. Never seen it or done it myself.”

“Give me your best try, Sam, if you please.” Lady Ashwater beamed encouragingly.

Jessica felt uncertain for a moment, but then started thrusting into Lady Ashwater, pulling the older woman’s torso toward her. Lady Ashwater squealed (albeit Jessica surmised this might be out of excitement in having her lurid fantasy carried out, rather than any actual physical pleasure imparted) and kicked up her heels, almost causing Jessica to drop her onto the solid brick. Struggling under her employer’s weight, Jessica staggered backwards until the small of her back met the edge of the table and she could support herself. It was uncomfortable, but it allowed her to remain tipped far enough back that she could hold up Lady Ashwater’s bobbing torso and thrust with her hips at the same time.

“Whoops! Careful there Sam! Perhaps you’re not quite as strong as I thought yet!” Lady Ashwater laughed.

Jessica grunted and kept thrusting. Her mind was racing. This was so peculiar! She was a woman, and not a pervert one who lusted after other women… wasn’t she? Certainly, Lady Ashwater was glamorous, and certainly, it made her feel good to have the woman who had made her life a living hell bouncing on her… cock… but that was about power, wasn’t it?

 _Whatever_ , she thought. _She’s right. Unlike real men I don’t have to enjoy it to do it. Think of the money, Jessica. Think of Ma, and your sisters._

“Ooh, that’s the way, Sam, harder please!” Lady Ashwater squealed. She hauled her upper body forwards and wrapped her arms around Jessica’s neck, leaning forward and locking their lips together. Jessica was taken aback and only just managed to adjust to keep pumping. The experience of being kissed by this older woman was unexpected and unwanted, but Lady Ashwater’s perfume overpowered her senses, and… Jessica was almost ashamed to admit it to herself, but there was something validating and comforting about being _desired_ in this odd shape the woman had pulled her into. Try as she had over the past two months, Jessica had been unable to feel comfortable, or indeed anything other than ridiculous, in this persona she had been forced into, into Sam. But maybe if it meant so much to somebody else, even to the woman who had done the forcing… she felt a surge of energy and redoubled her efforts at thrusting, snaking her hand down to put a pair of fingers to the lady’s clitoris.

“What’s this?” Lady Ashwater whispered, breaking the kiss. “Perhaps my shrinking violet has more experience than he lets on.”

“You can NOT be enjoying my clumsy fumbling with this… apparatus this much, Ma’am. I refuse to believe it.” Jessica grumbled.

“You sell yourself short, Sam!” Lady Ashwater moaned rapturously. “But yes, your technique is a little sloppy. A little too mechanical, perhaps, too focused on your own pleasure. But don’t worry- I’m quite used to that sort of thing.” she cackled. “Mostly I’m taking pleasure in my project having worked out so well- I’m sure you’ll feel the same when these flowers have fully grown.”

“I… ngh… I certainly hope not, Ma’am, or I’d make quite a scene out there.” Jessica complained, gruffly. Lady Ashwater only groaned in response as Jessica’s fingers assisted the device in bringing her to climax. It was only a few minutes later that the older woman shuddered and slackened in her grasp with a moan of relief. Jessica thought that perhaps the whole experience by rights ought to have lasted longer, but presumably Lord Ashwater’s inadequacies had engendered in his wife a rather short fuse, as it were. She lowered Lady Ashwater to the ground and back onto her feet, and the latter stumbled happily away into the middle of the glass house to readjust her skirt.

“Let me help you take that off, Samson.” She said, closing up behind Jessica again and fumbling with the straps on the device. “I’d wrap it up again before you leave with it- it might lead to talk otherwise.” She pulled the artificial member away and placed it on the table on top of the brown paper.

“Will that be all, Ma’am?” Jessica asked in a strained tone.

“All for now, Sam, all for now.” Lady Ashwater tittered, before stepping out of the fogged up door and assaulting Jessica’s bare lower half with a blast of chilly air.

Jessica looked in dismay at the ivory penis on the brown paper, and at her own crumpled trousers, side by side on the table. As she made to dress herself again she tried to put the whole horrid business out of her mind.

These lavender buds would need a lot of attention, after all.


End file.
